Someday
by OMWG
Summary: "None of that matters if it's minus my best friends."


**OMWGNOTE: **So this lovely piece of angst is dedicated to my best friend and FanFiction twin Miss Fenway. I've been working on it since November and it's now being presented as an early Christmas present. Merrrryyy Chrissstmmaasssss :D I don't own anything either, okay? Yeah.

Also, I'd like to give a huge thank you to EpicInTheLibrary, who helped edit this whole thing and gave me tons of advice on everything. I love you, mmkay?

* * *

_Kendall, Carlos and James-_

_You three are my best friends. We've been together for as long as I can remember, and you have all stuck by me since we made that promise so long ago in pee wee hockey. I can't thank you enough for that. And because of that promise, because you have stuck with me for the past eleven years, you deserve to know everything. You deserve to know why I'm hurting you the way I am. So I'll come right out with it: I'm leaving._

_By the time any one of you will read this letter, I'll probably already be on my flight. As much as I hate to say it and as much as I know you hate to read it, there's nothing you can do to stop me. I'm already gone and I'm not coming back._

_But as I said before, you deserve to know why. You guys have been such good friends to me and that counts for a lot in my book. I'm sorry that I'm being such a horrible friend for leaving you but I hope someday you can forgive me._

_Being a doctor has always been my dream and my ambition. Even at a young age it's all I could see myself doing. But then Big Time Rush happened._

_Don't get me wrong. Big Time Rush…Big Time Rush has been fantastic. I forgot all about being a doctor and after living in Los Angeles for a few months I definitely thought that this was what I was supposed to do. It felt right._

_But then it started feeling wrong. I realized that I was still dreaming of white lab coats and having "M.D." attached to my name. And while I loved being with you guys, making music and making Gustavo angry in the process, I realized that being here with you guys isn't where I'm supposed to be. _

_Thank all of you for sticking by me all of these years. I'm sorry that it has to end like this. Just…forget about me, okay? Continue with Big Time Rush like I was never a part of it, continue with your lives like I was never a part of them. I doubt we'll ever speak again and this way, everything will be easier._

_Again, I'm sorry. But I can't stay here. I can't pretend like I want to do this when I don't._

_-Logan_

_P.S. James—the box is for you. Happy Birthday._

* * *

"Logan, you've got some mail," My roommate Patrick says as he walks in. I set down my laptop as he hands me a stack of letters, smiling at me before he turns to his side of the room. I ignore the letters for a moment and watch him as he immediately gravitates towards his closet, bending down and beginning to throw shoes and various sweatshirts around to find what he's looking for.

I turn my attention away from him and to the stack of mail he just handed me, flipping through some of the envelopes lazily and not really expecting anything big or exciting. On top sits a letter from my parents, and I set down the other letters to read it. It's in my mom's handwriting but she goes on and on about both she and my father miss me and that they can't wait until Thanksgiving break when I'm home. I roll my eyes but smile anyway. I come home almost every weekend, but I suppose my mother seems to forget the fact that I'm only thirty minutes away.

By the time I finish the letter Patrick is already heading out again, a flashlight in his hand. As we exchange goodbyes and he shuts the door, I wonder aloud where he goes all of the time and why on earth he would need a flashlight for whatever he's doing. The campus here isn't that great and there's nothing to do unless you're actually in class. But apparently Patrick _always_ has something to do, and that's fine with me. I have my own friends and besides, sometimes I like the privacy.

I settle into the pillows on my bed and pick up the stack of letters again. I sort through them with a bored expression, finding mostly college information letters and random junk mail. But the very last letter in the pile causes me to sit up, the color draining from my face. I can feel my heart drop into my stomach as I immediately recognize the messy scrawl on the front, stating my name and address. For reasons unknown to me, I feel fear build up and take temporary residence in my chest.

My irrational fears only worsen when my eyes move to the top left corner of the letter.

_Kendall Knight_, it reads, followed by the address of the Palm Woods and the city, state and postal code. My breathing hitches as I see the name of my best friend, or my ex-best friend if it's more appropriate. I can feel my hands begin to shake and my eyes are just fixed on that name while I contemplate whether or not to rip the letter up into a million pieces.

I don't know how he found me. In my departing letter I had mentioned something about going to into the medical field but I had been careful to leave out everything about the school I would be attending. Either my parents, unknowing of the circumstances I had left the others, had given away my location or Kendall had done some prying of his own.

But right now it doesn't really matter how Kendall had found out my new address. Instead, I'm dwelling more on the fact that he _did,_ that he took the time out of his day to write me a letter. A long one, judging by how thick the envelope feels.

I continue to stare at the envelope in my shaking hands, not knowing what to do. Every rational part of my brain is telling me to rip it into a million shreds and then collect the pieces only to burn it. My brain tells me that it's probably Kendall yelling at me and telling me how much he hates me.

But my heart is telling me that Kendall wouldn't do that. That Kendall would never hate me, no matter what I did. That's just the kind of person he is. I can't even name one person that Kendall hates. Kendall is definitely capable of anger but hate is something beyond him.

Obviously my fingers ignore what my brain was trying to convince my heart because with my hands still quivering, I flip the envelope over and run my finger under the seal, watching as the paper rips and tears under the force of my digit.

It seems like it's taking a longer time than it actually is for my finger to slide under the entire seal, and when it finally opens I'm not sure whether to be relieved that it's all over or scared because that was the easiest part.

I peer inside the envelope and see many papers folded carefully together, indents of words showing through the back. I try to steady my hand as I pull out the folded papers. How is it that my hand can be perfectly still while holding a human heart but I can't even hold it together when I open a letter?

I unfold the papers carefully, slowly. I don't know if I simply don't want to rip the papers or if I'm trying to stall the process of me actually reading the words Kendall wrote to me. This time my heart and my brain are on the same page, both telling me that I'm just trying to delay what I know is coming. I scowl at them both as finally, _finally_, I open the letter and begin to read.

_Logan,_ it says, and I prepare myself mentally for the words that are to follow my name. My heart is hammering against my ribcage and I can hear my pulse beating wildly in my ears. Taking a deep breath and trying to stop the shaking of my hands, I continue to read.

_Where do I even begin? I think it's some secret protocol for people to start of letters with a, "Hi, how are you?" or, "Hello, how have you been doing?" But I don't even think that people write letters anymore. It's all emails and calls and texts and blahblahblah, people have gotten out of hand with technology these days. But I'm not one to talk. I've emailed you and I've called you and I've texted you and you never answer. I always get voice mail or no response on texts or emails. I've been trying to reach you for fifty-six days, Logan. It's been fifty-six days since you've left and I haven't talked to you in that long._

_It's funny how for the past fifty-six days I've been building up what I want to tell you, what I want to ask you. I've made a mental list of every little thing I could possibly write in this letter but now, when it finally counts, I'm coming up with nothing. _

_I guess I'll start from the beginning. July 15__th__, a day before James' birthday. James, Carlos and I had all gone out to see Toy Story 3 for the fourth time. We wanted you to go, Carlos even got on his knees and begged, but you told us you were sick. Looking back on that day, I wonder if you really were sick or if you were just faking so you had more time to get up and leave our lives. As much as I wish it was the first one, I know it was the second._

_The movie was amazing, in case you wanted to know. Even though you saw it with us the first three times, it was just as funny the first time. Again, even though you had already seen it, Carlos had been so excited to come home and tell you all about how Buzz spoke Spanish and how Woody was so super-special-amazing and how he felt bad for Lotzo and just wanted to give him a big ol' bear hug, pun definitely intended. But when we got back to the apartment it was quiet. My mom and Katie were out, doing whatever it is they do, and we all just figured you were asleep. Of course Carlos would have none of that, and he went into your room to wake you up. If it counts, James and I tried to stop him. But I guess it doesn't really count, so whatever._

_That's when we found the note. I still have it. For the first few days I opened and closed that note a thousand times and every time I thought it was a dream. Every time I thought maybe the letters and words and sentences would change and it would just be you saying you had gone on vacation and that you'd be back. Not that you had gone forever._

_Logan, I can't even begin to describe all of the emotions we felt on that day. I suppose each of us responded to your leaving in our own different ways._

_Carlos cried when he first read your letter. He got to it first and when we saw tears after his eyes had only scanned a few lines, James and I immediately knew that something was wrong. Carlos read that letter more quickly than I had ever seen him read anything, and even though he probably skipped over several words and sentences he still got the gist of everything you were trying to say. He still knew that you were leaving and you weren't coming back._

_James read it next. He looked so worried when he started to read but by the time he had finished, he looked emotionless. We had always referred to James as a Drama King (or Queen when he was being less than manly) because he's usually so emotional about everything. He can take the smallest thing and make it seem like the apocalypse is happening. And when he was just…void of all emotions, it kind of scared me. He always puts his heart into everything but after reading that letter it was like he just didn't care anymore. It's ironic that his lucky comb breaking is the end of the world but you leaving didn't spark a reaction in him. He honestly just picked up the gift you had given him and, well, he left. Went to his room and left the letter for me to read._

_It should probably be easiest for me to tell you my reaction but again, I'm finding the words hard to write. I don't know how Carlos and James felt. I simply judged their reactions as to how they looked when the news was first broken to them. But I __know__ how I feel. I have control over my own emotions and I should be able to tell you right away what I thought about you just packing up everything and going about on your merry way. But it's hard for me. So bear with me, Logan, if I start rambling and don't get to the point right away. This is hard for me and if you take offense to anything I'm about to write, then I'm so sorry._

_I had to read your letter several times before I actually understood what you were saying. And after I had fully comprehended the letters and words you had used to form sentences, only a few seemed to register. That's a lie, actually. The only thing that registered was the first line: "I'm leaving."_

_I thought it was my fault. Even though I had read through the entire letter and knew that you left to go fulfill your dreams of being a doctor, I still felt like I had done something to make you leave. Like maybe I had spent too much time with Jo and neglected you while doing so, or maybe I hadn't tried hard enough to see that you were unhappy where you were and wanted to give up. _

_When I looked into it more I felt ten times guiltier. If you were unhappy, I should have noticed. If not me, then James or Carlos. We're your best friends and we should have noticed what was wrong, or that you didn't want to be here anymore. But that brings me to my first question: We're your best friends._

_Okay, I lied, that's not a question. It's a statement, I suppose. A true fact, a sentence that has applied for a good portion of our lives. But…but maybe it doesn't apply anymore. Maybe it doesn't apply because we didn't know what was going on with you, or maybe it's not true because you left._

_Logan, I'm not trying to make you seem like the bad guy here. But when we were little we promised that we would stick together. I know we've gone through some tougher times. Like when you and James got into a fight over Camille and stopped being friends. I know I was off having my own problems with Jo during that whole thing, but it scared me. I knew what was going on and I knew that you guys weren't friends anymore. I thought you two had broken the promise we made so long ago. But I didn't really have to worry, did I? You guys barely fought for a day and then fixed everything by dressing up like ridiculous cowboys and having a spit ball duel. Camille's not even here anymore. She moved back to Connecticut with her dad because she wasn't really booking any acting parts anymore. I thought you should know because you guys are friends. Or you were, at least._

_Then there was the time before that, the time where Griffin dumped us as a band. We went back to Minnesota and we were so focused on our dreams there that we had forgotten that James…he didn't really have anything to fall back on. I remember when we thought he was such an idiot for fighting with us and, when we got back to L.A., how we thought __he__ was the bad one for breaking our eleven year promise to each other. But really we were all players, and I don't know about you, but when James came back I was so incredibly happy. I can't imagine how James felt when he found out we were trying to replace him but I'm glad he forgot about everything and came back to us. Nothing…nothing felt right with just the three of us. We had always worked best as four and I guess being apart kind of showed us that._

_Which brings me back to you. Was it focusing on your doctor dream back in Minnesota after Griffin fired us that made you reconsider Big Time Rush? You've always talked about being a doctor, ever since we were little. I remember you carrying around your Sesame Street doctor kit, with the Cookie Monster stethoscope (oh God, please tell me I spelled that right) and the Bert thermometer and the Big Bird blood pressure…thingy. And there were all of these other doctor tools and I remember how much you loved that kit, Logan. How every time one of us fell on the playground or got sick you would whip out that kit shaped like Elmo's head and rush to our sides. Maybe the plastic bandages did no good on our wounds, but it was the thought that counted. It was your compassion and determination towards being a doctor that made everything better._

_You've always been good at making things better, Logan. That's why I don't understand how you could have made things so horrible._

_I don't mean to pin the blame on you, I really don't. Hopefully you know that I would never, ever intentionally outright blame you for something that I know you didn't mean to do. But whether you meant to or not, going to fulfill your doctor dream ruined us._

_It broke the promise we made on the rink so many years ago. It broke our friendship apart and I don't know how you're feeling, seeing as we haven't spoken in fifty-six days, but I do sort of know how I'm feeling, and I have a pretty good idea about how everyone you left behind is feeling, too._

_I'm going to start with Gustavo and Kelly. It seems weird, I know, but believe it or not you leaving has impacted them. Well, you would probably figure Kelly would be affected. Kelly is awesome and loves all of us. So I'll start with her. She's just. She's really upset all of the time. I mean, when it was all four of us she was so eager to help us succeed in our pop stardom or whatever else we needed help with. When you left, it obviously affected me and James and Carlos, which I'll get to later. But since we were all upset in different ways she couldn't help us, and I think it's really bothering her. She's not really as excited about anything anymore. And Gustavo? Well, believe it or not, Gustavo has a heart. Maybe. I don't know if it's in his actual body or if he keeps it somewhere amongst the pudding in his media room fridge, but he definitely has one somewhere. We'll be recording and he'll be blubbering on and on about how he "misses his fourth dog." I don't think he's offending you by calling you the fourth dog. I think he just _does._ I don't know, Logan. He's Gustavo and he's weird. But he is upset that you're gone and I think that's all that matters. They've been looking for your replacement for the last two months and surprisingly, Griffin is okay with that. I suppose he took it to heart when Kelly told him he could never ever drop Big Time Rush ever again. I also think he's come to like us a little bit. Or maybe a lot. I don't know. If Gustavo is like…if Gustavo is algebra (crappy analogy, I know, but you know how much I suck at math and once you read the whole thing, it will make sense to you. In Kendall-terms, anyway), then Griffin is calculus. I don't understand either of them but Griffin is a heck of a lot harder for me to comprehend. (Okay, honestly, I don't even get calculus. It scares me. Because we all had Ms. Cagoron for homeroom and every time we walked in she would have all this stuff for her AP Calculus class on the boards. I can't even make it through Geometry. How can people make it through AP Calculus? Okay, I'm really sorry. I'm going on this whole rant about math when I should be talking about Griffin.) But anyway. I think Griffin is letting Gustavo and Kelly take so much time finding your replacement because he doesn't want to let us go. We make him money and he saw what happened the last time he dumped us. Plus Kelly made him swear and supposedly we have a bunch of companies willing to adopt Rocque Records and Big Time Rush. Worth $2 million has its perks, I guess. But we don't really care._

_My mom and Katie aren't too happy about you being gone, either. I remember a long time ago my mom talked about how she thought of all four of us as her sons, given that we spent sosososo much time together. Even before my dad died, he knew that all four of us had a special connection. Like we were brothers separated at birth or something and fate brought us together. I don't know. But I talked to my mom about this, because, well, she's my mom and I tell her things. And she told me that you leaving was like her losing one of her sons. Katie said something similar, though instead of you being her son (because she'd sort of have to be like, negative 20 when you were born or something, I don't know. That'd be gross anyway) she said that losing you was like losing one of her brothers. She looks up to all of us, I guess. Me the most because we're direct family, but I guess you and Carlos and James were around so much when she was growing up that she sort of accepted the fact that she has not one, but four brothers. And don't even start to feel bad about this, Logan, because I know you and I know you will. Actually, if you're already feeling bad, stop it. Stop it right now. Don't feel bad about anything I've told you or anything I'm going to tell you. This is you dream, Logan. You're not selfish and you're not mean for wanting to be a doctor. It's what you wanted to do and what kind of best friends would we be if we stopped you from doing that?_

_Let's talk about Carlos next, because he's Carlos and he's precious and I know that sounds kind of homosexual, but just think of Carlos and tell me that precious isn't the first word that pops into your mind. I have to warn you, though. Carlos is where things start to get bad. Me writing about Carlos is going to make my heart hurt, more than my hand already hurts from writing all of this down. _

_Logan, Carlos is scaring me. He really, truly is. He's not the happy, kitten-loving, "I'm going to jump the pool with my rocket skates and not think twice about it" kind of Carlos. He's more of the kind of guy who will smile every once in a while, crack a joke about kittens here or there, but instead of jumping the pool with his rocket skates he sits in front of the TV and watches SpongeBob SquarePants all day. Which, I bet you're wondering why I'm scared for him. Carlos always watches SpongeBob. It's a Carlos thing to do. But the thing that's scaring me is that he's sort of drifting away from us. Talking to us less and less, taking the stairs down instead of Swirly, and he hardly ever wears his helmet anymore. That's because he wore his helmet when he did something dangerous or stupid or reckless or simply Carlosian. But he doesn't do those kinds of things anymore. He's a couch potato and he and James don't even fight with dinosaur shaped chicken anymore and actually, they can't because since they don't fight with it my mom stopped getting it and now we have regular chicken and I swear, it doesn't taste as good. Everything tastes better when it's in dinosaur form. But again, I'm getting off topic. Do I have a reason to be scared for Carlos, Logan? Is his behavior some sign of depression or is he just maturing or something? I don't know, Logan. When we first wanted to bring James to the audition with Gustavo you said something about how you crack under pressure and that I always come up with the answers. But I'm not coming up with the answers, Logan. I don't know anything about this kind of stuff and I can't do anything for Carlos. I don't even know if anything is wrong with him._

_And you know, Carlos scares me a lot. I hope you picked up that vibe as you read that whole huge paragraph (I hope it doesn't bother you that these just look like big, messy blobs on notebook paper. I just don't know how else to get my point across). But hopefully you gathered that I am at least fearful for how Carlos is doing. But while he worries me, he doesn't worry me as much as James._

_Even Carlos knows there's something wrong with him. We've only talked about it a few times but we know something is up with James. I don't know the signs of depression, Logan. All of the sites that came out of my Google research when I typed in the word were what to do if __you__ were the one with the depression, not how to tell if your friend had it. But James…you know how he is. He's always so passionate about everything and so absolutely driven and he just has to succeed, he has to. And when he fails, he fails hard. _

_I think you leaving…I think James thinks it's his fault, too. That, because he failed somehow, you couldn't put up with him anymore and you left. I don't __know__ if he feels like that. Again, I'm only assuming and it's not like he'll talk to me about it. He just locks himself in our room all day. You know, he still has the present you gave him. He hasn't opened it, but at least he hasn't thrown it away or destroyed it, either. I think he's afraid to open it, to be honest. But again, I'm getting off track. I seem to be doing that a lot. It's like, I know exactly what I want to say but I guess I'm sort of stalling in saying it._

_But back to James. He's really, really worrying me. Me and Carlos. I don't even know where to start, and this is just about James. Logan, he's gotten so…skinny. I mean, you know how James is. When he's down about something he doesn't eat that much. But I just don't get it. He's eating fine. I mean, he's not inhaling the food off of his plate but it's eating nonetheless. He only really comes out for meals, too. Right when he's finished eating he just goes back into our room. I don't even know what he's doing in there. Usually whenever I stop in to check on him he's in his bed fast asleep. He's tired all of the time. Tired and cold, I guess. I don't know. He always wears long sleeved shirts even though it's only the beginning of September and it's still really hot outside. But I guess since he never goes outside that doesn't matter._

_Am I a bad friend, Logan? Should I already have conclusions as to what's wrong with Carlos and James? Because I only have little inklings. Like, "Oh, Carlos __may or may not__ be depressed." Or, "Oh, James __may or may not__ be depressed and anorexic." Because I think they are, Logan. Depressed, I mean. I'm pretty sure both of them are depressed. I'm not sure about the whole…anorexic thing with James, though. I mean. Doesn't anorexia only happen to girls? Or do I just suck at paying attention in Health? Because. He's just, he's so __skinny__, Logan. It's like he's practically swimming in his clothes. I don't know what's wrong with him, Logan. I just don't know. You said that I always come up with the answers. Where are my answers, Logan? Where are they?_

_I suppose this brings me to the topic I had been so carefully avoiding throughout this whole letter: me and how I'm feeling. I gave you a glimpse into how I felt when I first started the letter, but the focus of the rest of it has been on Carlos or James or anyone else who was affected by your decision (again, don't feel bad. Please, don't feel bad. That's not why I wrote this letter, Logie). You need to know how I'm feeling about this, and I need to come to terms with it myself._

_I still feel like it's my fault. Even without your reassurance that it's not and the fact that I know it's not, that if it was you would have told me, I still blame myself for you leaving every day that you've been gone. Fifty-five consecutive mornings of my life I have woken up and berated (again, I have no idea if I spelt this right. English is not my forte, either) myself for being the cause of you just packing up and going. _

_The rest of the day is filled with me having conversations with myself (does this make me crazy?). One voice telling me that it's totally my fault, that it was my actions made you want to go. This side is the loudest. This side has the voice that rings in my ears, sticks to my brain and stays there until I go to sleep. This is the side that never seems to shut up. It needs to make me know that I was wrong, that I'm bad._

_The other side tells me that it's not my fault. That you left on your own accord for your own reasons, your ambition to be a doctor being the only drive that caused you to head back to Minnesota on your own. This voice is the quiet one. This is the personality that I most often forget, the one who's always drowned out by the louder, more obnoxious and nagging side of me. Usually what it says goes through one ear and out the other because the other voice is just so damn loud and I can't help but listen to that one. _

_I suppose you think I'm crazy, Logan. Talking to myself, having arguments inside my own head…aren't those signs of Schizophrenia or something? (And in no way did I look up Schizophrenia in the dictionary to make sure I spelled it right. Why is there a z? And a ch? And a ph? I'm so confused.) Am I going to start dreaming about wolves and clawing my own face off like in that book we read in seventh grade? I really hope not. I don't want to be crazy._

_Aside from me talking to myself, I've just started feeling helpless all of the time. I've mentioned this like four billion times and I'm going to bring it up again. You know how you always used to talk about how I always come up with the answers? Well I can't do that anymore. I don't know what's wrong with James and Carlos and I don't know what's wrong with me. When you guys all had Hollywood Fever, Gustavo told me that I was sort of the leader of you guys and that I needed to fix you. So if I'm the leader, aren't I supposed to fix Carlos and James? Aren't I supposed to know what's wrong with them and fix it? How can I fix them when I can't fix myself?_

_That's why I feel helpless. I used to solve everything and now I'm left looking for answers. I'm looking for an answer as to why you left and I'm looking for an answer as to what's wrong with James and Carlos and I'm looking for an answer as to what the heck I'm supposed to do about everything. What am I supposed to do, Logan? Sitting back and doing nothing is what I've been doing but it's obviously not working. We're all getting worse and I hate the fact that I'm not able to do anything about it._

_I think about you every day, Logan. I think about what you're doing and if you regret leaving Big Time Rush. I wonder if you're having fun where you are and if we ever cross your mind. I think I mentioned how I read the note you left every day. I do that because it's one of the only things I have left of __you__, Logan. You won't talk to use and I don't know if that's because you hate us or you just don't have the time, but that letter is the last direct communication from you I have._

_I still have a lot of pictures too. There are ones of all four of us on the dresser and pretty much every table surface of me and James' room, pictures of us and the hockey team, school pictures…everything._

_A lot of the time James puts the pictures face down, like he can't bear to look at them or something. But there's one he never puts down, and I have no idea why._

_It's a picture of the four of us at James' sixth birthday party. We're all covered in cake bits and frosting and James is crying because the gunk got in his hair, and me and Carlos are laughing at him while you're trying to get it out. I don't know why he leaves that picture up, especially since you left the day before his seventeenth birthday. You would think it brings up bad memories for him but I guess it doesn't. I remember that day perfectly, too. James' mom had made cupcakes with Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles figures on them and she only made four, one for each of us. I got Leonardo, Carlos got Raphael, James got Michelangelo and you got Donatello. I guess each of them fit our personalities. But after we took the figurines off, of course Carlos had to start a cupcake fight and everything sort of snowballed from there._

_But anyway. Everyone says I'm the leader and I think that's a lie. If I didn't have you guys I wouldn't be anywhere. I think that's why I'm having trouble with everything now, Logan. I think because you left, you took a lot of my confidence with you. Now I don't know what to do anymore and it scares me._

_Back in Minnesota and even here in Los Angeles, you always used to say the same thing every time me and Carlos and James put you in a situation that you knew was dangerous or we were going to get in trouble for._

"_I've gotta get new friends."_

_Thinking about it now, I have to wonder if that was the reason why you left. Did you…stop liking us? Is that why you went to be a doctor, to get away from us? I mean, I guess I see where you're coming from. You would think someone who's stubborn, someone who's vain, someone who's crazy and someone who's a genius wouldn't be friends. But we are friends, best friends. Or at least we were. _

_That's why I'm sending you this letter, Logie. Your parents gave me your address because…well, because I asked them. How long have we known each other? Eleven years? So yeah, I think that's why they gave it to me. I chose to write you a letter instead of visiting because if you left and haven't talked to me in fifty-six days then obviously you don't want to see me. I mean, if you don't reply to this letter I'll probably resort to flying out there. I just __need__ to know what's going on with you, Logan. If you're even reading this right now, then thank you. Thank you for at least taking the time to read this._

_This letter is finally coming to a close. It took me twelve pages but finally, __finally__ I'm going to get to the last thing I need to address. And that's a question._

_Why?_

_Why did you leave us, Logan? Why did you just pack up and leave? Were you unhappy? Do you hate us? Have you always hated us?_

_Why, Logan? Just. Why?_

_You just…you left us. You left us and you didn't even think about the mess you were leaving behind, the mess that __you__ created. Carlos is a mess. James is a mess. I'm a mess. And we have no one to clean us up, no one to fix everything. What happened to that little boy, Logan? The one who would fix all of the hurt with a plastic bandage from his doctor kit? _

_He grew up, I guess. Stopped caring, I suppose. But you're not selfish for leaving us. We were selfish for keeping you here. Keeping you here when you could have been off finding a cure for cancer. You have always been brilliant, Logan. Even though things are so messed up here, don't feel bad. I already mentioned it but really, don't feel bad. That's not the purpose of this letter. _

_I'm sorry, Logan. For everything._

_-Kendall_

His name is squished into the margin of the thirteenth paper even though his words only take up half of the page. But the other half is taken up by a picture, the same one he described somewhere in his letter.

I don't know if it's the original or if he made a copy, but it's there nonetheless. My eyes scan over the picture, something I haven't seen in years.

First I see Kendall. When he was younger, his hair was so much blonder than it is now. He didn't even have his huge eyebrows back then, or if he did, they weren't prominent in this picture. A smile is etched onto his face, and the ghost of his ridiculous laugh rings through my ears. He's pointing one tiny finger to the other side of the picture, clutching his stomach with his other hand.

Next to him his Carlos, and I smile at how short he is in comparison. His expression is similar to Kendall's but instead of pointing and laughing, his hands are blurred, obviously in mid-clap. He too is staring at the same thing Kendall is, their source of amusement definitely coming from the same place.

My eyes scan the items in the background before landing on James. As a kid, James was really chubby. He obviously grew out of it, but it's funny to see how…round he used to be. He's crying and has his hands out in front of him, his palms and fingers covered with frosting and bits of cake. His crying face is in the same condition and when my eyes land on his hair, it too is covered in cupcake remains.

Then I see myself. I'm picking the cake bits out of James' hair, and now looking at his face again, he looks like he's about to stop crying. My expression is determined and I remember that day now, the way I had to rake my fingers through his hair to get all of the cupcake pieces out so he would stop crying.

The picture is precious and I stare at it for a long time. I wish we could all be six again, playing Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and our only problems being trying to get the cupcake bits out of James' hair.

I don't care how many times Kendall told me not to feel bad because even if he were here to say it, I would still feel as horrible as I do now. I set the final page down, the page with the picture on it, and look at the other pages. My guilt seems to build up more and more as I see ripples in the paper, little spots from where it got wet. Kendall was crying when he wrote this. _Kendall_ was _crying_.

My eyes are rapidly skimming through the words then, and a choice few stand out to me: _James, Carlos, depressed, anorexic, helpless, sorry, why._

_Why._

_Why?_

The word hits me like a tidal wave, pulling my head underwater and leaving me struggling to find the surface, twisting and turning in the depths of the ocean while my lungs scream for oxygen. But I can't break free. It's like my limbs are dead weights and now the water is turning icy cold, further immobilizing my arms and legs and leaving me with no choice but to sink, further and further until I hit the ocean floor and know the end is coming.

It feels like that, anyway. The word alone has almost more impact on me than the entire letter itself. And that's because I don't know the answer to Kendall's question. I don't know it now and I'm not sure I ever will.

When I first left, I told myself that it was what was supposed to happen. When I got on that plane back to Minnesota, the only reason I stayed on was because I knew that being a doctor was my destiny, my fate, as lame as it sounds. I thought that to achieve my goal of being a doctor that I had to leave behind my friends. Being alone was the only way to do what I needed to do.

But now I know what my absence has done to them. Kendall gave me every reason to believe that both Carlos and James are depressed, and I would be a lot of money to say that he is, too. He also gave me enough evidence to come to the conclusion that James is anorexic, or is at least having trouble with his weight. Kendall went on and on about how I always fixed things, but leaving was the worst decision I've ever made. I didn't fix things. I ruined them.

I never should have abandoned them. Kendall told me not to feel selfish but I am. They _need_ me. We all need each other. And by some horrible irony, a verse plays through my mind. Two lines that are characterized by several notes, all perfectly executed by James' voice.

"_Oh no, I don't have all the answers, but there is one thing I know for sure. One is good, but four is better."_

The words ring in my head, and soon they are the only things that fill my mind. They're so incredibly true that I can barely even stand it. Because here I am, sitting all by myself. I'm having a great time here but I realize that when Kendall, James and Carlos are with me, everything is better, smoother.

They're my best friends. They're my brothers.

I don't have an answer to Kendall's question, not yet. But I have an answer that might make it so I don't need to answer Kendall's question, an answer that will solve everything and make it better again.

I pick up my phone with shaking hands, my fingers fumbling as I try to press the correct buttons. My mother picks up almost immediately and, after explaining my situation to her, she reluctantly agrees to go through with my plans.

I waste no time in hanging up on my mother and literally jumping out of my bed, grabbing my hockey bag from underneath and cramming all sorts of clothes in. I don't even know if they're going to be appropriate for the weather in Los Angeles but I don't even care.

As I continue to pack, I don't even realize that I'm signing until I reach the end of the chorus.

"Why wait? Why wait? 'Cause this is our someday," I finish the tune and smile, zipping up my bag and heading out.

Maybe I _can_ fix everything.

* * *

I had forgotten how much I hate airports until arriving at LAX. I don't like the bustle of busy people, frantically rushing to their gates only to arrive frazzled and an hour and a half early. I don't like the ignorant people with their huge suitcases and how one of those people always manages to run over my foot with their overweight luggage. I don't like that no matter where you're going or coming from, all you want to do is get the heck out of there.

Plus, it's like whoever came up with the idea of airports in the first place purposely tried to make everything so difficult. The boarding passes, the checking-in of luggage, the forty bazillion hour wait in security. And that's simply leaving an airport. At least passengers coming off of a flight don't have to worry about security but there is something equally as terrifying waiting for you when you get off the plane: baggage claim.

Again, the pushiness of airport people. They're all trying to get to their luggage as quickly as possible and they _will_ push you if you're in their way. I unfortunately had to deal with this several times before actually spotting the one item of luggage I had checked. And when I did, I discovered some guy trying to jack it.

I have no idea how he could have mistaken our pieces. My hockey bag had a huge Little Marais High School insignia on the front, along with my last name in large, bold letters. Capital letters. I don't know how anyone can miss that but apparently, it's possible.

Fortunately enough the guy realized his mistake and gave me my bag back right away, but I'm still annoyed as I walk towards the exit of the airport. I'm not sure if the guy caught up in our misunderstanding had anything to do with it or if it's because of the fact I had to sit next to a man twice as large as Gustavo on the plane and couldn't even have my own seat to myself.

I sigh in relief when I finally push past a family of eight and make it out of the airport. Immediately I drop my bags and roll up the sleeves of my sweatshirt, trying to escape the warm night air that defines Los Angeles. I pick my bag back up and then place a hand over my eyes, even though it's pointless because there is no sun to shield them from. In retrospect, I probably didn't have to call one in the first place because Los Angeles is filled with taxis, but I disregard that fact and walk towards one of the fifteen or so yellow vehicles parked on the curb.

Immediately the driver of said cab gets out and greets me with a smile, helping me put my luggage into the car and asking where I am headed to. I promptly tell him my destination and then settle into the back of the car, the cool air conditioning a huge relief even after being outside for less than five minutes.

I allow myself to relax in the seat as the cab driver pulls out of the airport, turning on some music while I look out the window. So many people assume that Los Angeles is a synthetic town, made of selfish whores and nose jobs. And while I can certainly name a few people like that, a lot of people that I know in Los Angeles aren't like that. Then again, most of the people I know are part of the pre-fame crowd, so it's not like I can judge.

But nonetheless, the scenery here is beautiful. Maybe it's the palm trees or the blue skies or the amazing sites, but I love it here in L.A. I wish there was a prestigious medical school here that I could attend so that I would be able to relish in this warm weather all of the time.

Apparently I was too busy enjoying the scenery because before I know it, the buildings and cars outside of my window stop blurring and I see the familiar building of the Palm Woods. I thank the cab driver and pay the money I owe, then take my bag out of the bag and watch as the taxi speeds away in search of more customers.

I begin to walk towards the door of the Palm Woods but then stop. I'm really not in the mood for anyone here to recognize me. My only goal is to see Kendall, Carlos and James and apologize for leaving and basically obliterating our relationship. So before I walk through the doors, I put my hood up and keep my head down, praying that no one will recognize me.

Fortunately there's really no one _to_ recognize me. I remember Kendall mentioning that Camille is living back in Connecticut, and a pang of guilt hits my chest as I realize that this is probably my fault in a way. Because I wasn't with Big Time Rush, Big Time Rush had no music videos to record. And because there were no music videos to record, Camille didn't have the chance to save her acting career.

But I shake my head and forget about her, trying not to be noticed as I make my way to the elevators. I notice that the Palm Woods is filled with new members, and apparently the influx of new hopefuls arrived in my absence. I thankfully don't see someone like Buddha Bob or Guitar Dude or the Jennifers. I don't know where Jo is, it being too late for her to film anything, but as long as she's not here I don't really care.

I sigh in relief as I reach the elevators and hit the up button with my thumb. I know it's probably easier to take the stairs but my bag is heavy and I want to make it less of a hassle for myself. When the elevator arrives and I step in, pressing the _2_ button, I realize that my friends might not even let me stay in the apartment. I probably should have booked a hotel room instead of relying on staying in the Palm Woods in my old room.

But I try to push those fears aside when the elevator doors open and I step out, immediately turning left and walking down the familiar hallway to 2J.

I reach the apartment much too soon. When I had my mother book me the flight, it had been on impulse. Kendall sent me a letter saying how much they needed me and I reacted to it without really thinking about it. Again, I don't even know if the guys will let me stay in the apartment and even more troubling, I don't know what to say when one of them answers the door.

But I know that I need to do this. I've made a horrible mess of everything and now it's my chance to make things right again. So without thinking about the consequences, I make my fingers form a fist, and then rap my knuckles on the door three times.

I let my hand drop, trying not to pee my pants as I hear footsteps coming from the other side. I don't know who it is, and even worse, I don't know how they'll react to me being here. I shouldn't have come back. This was a mistake, they'll hate me, someone's going to beat me up, why did I do this—

The door opens.

Kendall is standing there in all of his big-eyebrows-blonde-hair glory, if you can even call it that. Even with only a second to rake my eyes over him, I can immediately notice the change in his demeanor from the last time I saw him. His eyes are dull in a way, lacking the usual fiery passion they held as long as I had known him. He looks incredibly bored, even about answering the door, and even the way he holds himself is unconfident.

I smile tightly and lift my hand in a small wave as recognition flashes in his eyes, lighting them up considerably. He squints and lifts one of his hands to rub at his eye, like maybe he thinks seeing me is a dream. We stand in silence for a few moments until apparently, he convinces himself that I'm _really_ back, standing before him in flesh and bone.

But apparently seeing it doesn't make him believe it.

"Logan?" He asks. His voice is quiet, timid, shaky. Like he's afraid that he's crazy and that I might disappear if he speaks. But I'm still here, and he seems to realize that, but I speak anyway to confirm my presence.

"Yeah," I say, and my voice is barely above a whisper. "It's me, Kendall."

And that seems to be good enough for him. Suddenly tears fill his eyes and he holds out his arms. I drop my bag and don't even have time to put my own arms out as he pulls me to his form, shaking and wrapping his arms around me. He's clutching me tightly, like he'll never let go, like if he does I'll just go and disappear again. I return the hug just as he buries his head into my shoulder, and already I feel the wetness of his tears soaking through the thin fabric.

But I don't care. Kendall can cry onto every shirt that I own if it means that he forgives me, if it means that I can be with him and Carlos and James again. As I bury my own head into his shoulder, the impact of the mistake I made is hitting me harder than before as I feel more tears dampen my shirt.

We stand like that for an immeasurable amount of time, just holding onto each other as Kendall cries. And soon I feel tears well up in my eyes, threatening to spill over. But I hold them in, knowing that someone has to be strong. I have to be strong because I'm the one that made this mess and to clean it up, I can't go around crying and being the weak one.

And finally Kendall pulls back, but I keep a hand on his shoulder as he wipes at his eyes, smearing his tears on its sleeve. I realize that I have never seen Kendall cry, not in person anyway. Kendall rarely breaks down in front of any of us, but as he confirmed in his letter, me leaving has changed a lot of things. And this, I suppose, is one of them.

"Logan," He repeats, his tone still shaky. But now instead of being unsure, he speaks my name with certainty, as a statement, proving for a fact that I am standing in front of him and I'm not a hallucination.

I smile again, only the corner of my mouth twitching up. "Kendall," I mimic, wiping at my eye in case any tears spilled over.

We stand there for a moment, both of us uncertain of what to do. After a minute or so Kendall clears his throat, tugging at the collar of his shirt as he does so. "You can come in," He says, stepping aside and leaving the doorway open for me.

I nod and pick up my bag, letting the strap come to rest on my shoulder as I walk into the apartment. It's exactly as I remembered it; bright, colorful, and filled with random games. But it's completely empty as I set my bag down by the kitchen table, and I give Kendall a quizzical look, silently asking him why this is.

"My mom and Katie are on one of their day trips," He explains. "They won't be back until tomorrow morning. And, um, I think Carlos is in his room and I'd be willing to bet that James is sleeping."

"Oh," I say lamely. The tension in the room is so thick that I'm finding it hard to inhale and exhale correctly. I search my mind for something to say to my friend and finally come across something. "So I got your letter," I tell him. After I say it, I realize that it's incredibly stupid. Of course I got his letter. I resist the urge to slap my palm to my face.

He nods. "Yeah, I figured," He says. "You know, with you being here and all…though I thought you would just reply or something. You didn't have to come all the way out here."

It takes everything in me not to laugh in his face. Of course I had to come here. Kendall clearly demonstrated to me in his letter the mess that I created, the mess that I left behind. A simple letter wouldn't fix everything that I had done. He told me time and time again not to feel bad but there was no way that I couldn't. Realizing what I did was like a slap in the face and he and I both know that this mess can't be cleaned up with a few words on paper. I know it wasn't Kendall's intention for me to come back to Los Angeles regarding his letter, but it happened and it's done now, and there's nothing he can do about it.

"Yes I did, Kendall," I tell him. "You guys…you don't deserve what I did to you. I know you told me not to feel guilty, and I'm not. I'm just taking responsibility for what I did."

Kendall looks like he's going to cry. "It's not your fault," He says weakly.

"But it is," I say. "None of this would have happened if I hadn't left. You can't deny that. Just let me fix it, Kendall."

"Does this mean you're coming back?"

The question catches me off guard. Although I definitely should have expected Kendall or Carlos or James to ask it at some point, the fact that I didn't is throwing me off. I don't know how to respond to Kendall, because I don't know the answer to his question. I had never been good with answering people and now is definitely no exception. If anything, it's harder, because this is _Kendall_ who I haven't spoken to in fifty-something days and he needs answers from me.

I take a large gulp. "Kendall, I—" But my speech is cut off by someone else, and I have to stop the sigh of relief from escaping from my lips as to not give myself away.

"Logan?"

The voice sounds small and uncertain, something that I'm not used to hearing from Carlos, but I tilt my head back and direct my gaze to the top of the swirly slide anyway.

Kendall's words about Carlos come flooding back to me. "_…he's sort of drifting away from us. Talking to us less and less, taking the stairs down instead of Swirly, and he hardly ever wears his helmet anymore…"_ Now that I look more closely, I see that Carlos isn't wearing his helmet. But instead of being the stony Carlos Kendall described him as, a huge smile is plastered onto his face and it looks like nothing could ever break it.

"Hi, Carlos," I say, lifting my hand to give him a small wave.

In response, he dives head first down the swirly slide and in a matter of seconds, he's tumbling out of the opening. He's quick to get on his feet, however, and once he's standing he bounds over to me, jumping in the air with his arms wide open.

I yell out his name in surprise but catch him as he literally jumps into my arms, wrapping his arms around my neck and his legs around my waist like he's a koala bear.

"Logan," He says giddily, still beaming. "Hi!"

I chuckle. "Hi, Carlos," I say again, setting him down on the ground before me.

He looks like he's about to start jumping up and down in excitement. "You're back!" He exclaims, his voice far from quiet.

Again, I don't know how to respond. I was back; for the moment, anyway. I'm not planning on staying for long. I'm not going to leave behind the opportunities I have waiting for me in Minnesota. Of course I'm not going to break off all contact with them like I did before, but it's still going to be difficult telling them that I'm not here to stay.

Instead of voicing this, I smile and nod. It's not like I was lying; I _was_ back, just…not for long.

Both Carlos and Kendall seem pleased with my answer as Carlos' grin only widens and Kendall's lips form a smile. Although I'm not being entirely honest with them, I don't feel guilty. From what Kendall told me, neither of them have smiled in a long time and I'm glad to be the source of their happiness.

"Do you want anything to drink, Logan?" Kendall asks, edging towards the kitchen while still waiting for me to reply.

I shake my head. "No, it's fine," I say, shoving my hands into my pockets. "I'm not thirsty." He nods and the three of us fall into a silence. Trying to break it, I ask, "So, do either of you know when James is going to be awake or something?"

Both of them shake their heads. "He doesn't really come out of his room much," Carlos tells me, and my heart drops at his words. "He only ever comes out if it's to eat. But he didn't come out to get dinner yet, so he should be here soon."

"Meanwhile," Kendall says. "We could sit down and watch TV. Or, if you want, you could talk about what you've been doing."

I sigh. "Okay," I say, taking my hands out of my pockets and pulling out a chair from the kitchen table, sitting down and gesturing across from me. "I guess I'll tell you all about school. I never really watch television anymore so I wouldn't know what's on."

Neither of them protest and immediately sit down across from me, Kendall folding his arms across his chest and Carlos sitting on the edge of his seat, eager for what I have to tell him.

I tell them both all about the prep school I'm attending, about Patrick, about how much fun I'm having learning about different medical ailments and what to do if provided with a certain situation. I don't, however, tell them about all of the bad marks I've been getting or the fact that I can't seem to catch up with everyone else in my classes. It's something I'm ashamed of and they don't need to know about it.

I'm in the middle of telling them about when I held a real human heart in my hand when I pick up on the sound of someone coming down the stairs. Immediately I assume it's Katie or Kendall's mother, but then I remember Kendall saying something about them being on a day trip and not being back until the next morning.

That means that it has to be James.

I stop talking, sort of trailing off in the middle of a word, but I don't care and I'm sure that Kendall and Carlos don't either. While Kendall had made me concerned for all three of my best friends in his letter, seeing Kendall and Carlos proved to me that I could fix their problems with just appearing at the front door. However, Kendall confessed that he was the most worried about James and his worry is currently carrying on into me.

The words _anorexic_ and _depressed_ play through my mind again, and I gulp inaudibly as I wait for James to finally appear. It seems like it's taking him forever to walk down the entire flight of stairs and I find myself growing impatient at his absolute slowness.

But I don't wait for too long and soon, James is there, right in front of me, flesh and bone. And it literally looks like he's only flesh and bone; his cheek bones are more prominent, his shoulder blades jutting out, and his clothes are hanging off his body, looking like they're two sizes too big for him. But I've seen him wear that shirt before, and it used to fit him perfectly.

This makes me absolutely terrified. But what terrifies me even more is the fact that he doesn't even look our way, just keeps his eyes on the refrigerator as he walks towards it.

"James," Kendall says, standing up. Carlos and I take this as our cue to stand as well and we both do, pushing in our chairs and standing behind them.

James doesn't turn but still answers Kendall. "Yeah?" His voice sounds hollow, empty, small. It sounds so weak and although it's different than what I'm used to hearing from James, it fits this James, new James. I don't like new James. New James is so thin that I could probably break him in half, snap his backbone as if it were a twig.

Kendall's voice pulls me out of my thoughts. "There's someone here that I think you want to see," He says, and I brace myself as James turns around.

Our eyes meet and it takes all the strength that's currently in me not to cringe. His eyes are red and puffy and if I really look at him, I can tell he doesn't believe that I'm actually here. My suspicions are proven correct when he closes his eyes and shakes his head, like he's trying to clear his mind. But when he looks in my direction again, seeing that I'm obviously still here, his expression wavers.

"Logan?" He asks, his voice hoarse. In the back of my mind I wonder if it's like this because he hasn't spoken in so long. He clears his throat and tries again. "Is that you?"

I nod, trying not to move. I fear as though the smallest movement from me is going to do something to set James off. "Yeah, James," I say softly, trying my best to be gentle. "I'm here."

He seems to comprehend what I said and I sigh in relief. I expected things to be so much worse than they turned out to be.

But I haven't waited long enough. James takes a few steps towards me, and he looks like he's going to hug me. I'm about to hold my arms open for him but at the last moment he seems to change his mind, wrapping his arms around his torso as if he'll fall apart if he doesn't.

I wait for him to say something but he never does. Instead, he turns away from me quickly, speed walking back to the staircase. I watch after him dumbstruck as I hear him going up the stairs, and, a few moments after he reaches the top, I hear a door slam shut.

The sound makes me flinch, but I don't go after him. Instead I just stand there, wondering what happened. I don't know if James thinks he's hallucinating or maybe he's mad at me. If anything, I realize, it must be the second one. It has always been James' dream to be a pop star, living the life in Los Angeles. We were so far down the road to fame when I left, so he must resent me for that. I single-handedly crushed his dreams to pursue my own. What kind of friend am I?

I'm so caught up in my thoughts that I don't even realize that Kendall had taken me by the upper arm and dragged me into the bathroom until the door slams shut.

I snap out of my thoughts and glance up at him, my eyebrows furrowing. "What?" I ask, confused.

He looks like he wants to slap me. "Aren't you going to go after James?" He demands, making a hand gesture towards the door.

"I wasn't planning on it," I tell him. "And why do we have to have this conversation in the bathroom?"

One of his hands moves to rub awkwardly at the back of his neck. "Because I sort of never told Carlos or James that I sent you that letter," He confesses. I give him a stern look, and he adds, "But I didn't know what else to do!" He defends, his voice rising in pitch. "James was scaring me and Carlos was scaring me and me and my mom didn't know what to do and I just _knew_ that you would know what to do, Logan. You're the only one I could turn to and you're the only one who can fix it now."

There's no denying that he's right. I know that it's my responsibility to fix everything that I had left behind. But I didn't know _how_ to. "Well what do you want me to do, Kendall?" I retaliate. "I never have the answers. You've always had them, not _me_."

"Well now I don't know what to do!" He nearly screams, and when I see tears streaming down his face a horrible pain finds itself sitting on my chest, weighing down my heart with guilt. "Carlos is messed up, James is messed up, and I don't know what to do anymore! I can't fix us and Logan, it's _killing_ me."

He's in hysterics now and for the tenth time this night, I have no idea what to do. My instincts take over and I pull his body into mine. Kendall nearly crumbles at my touch and begins to sob into my shoulder, again marking my shirt with his tears. For the second time within the hour, Kendall has completely unraveled himself in front of me. Before this day I had never seen him cry before. Now, it's almost like it's natural for him to break down like he is now.

I didn't know that I had screwed everything up so completely.

"Kendall," I mumble into his shoulder. It takes him a few moments but he eventually pulls back, staring at me with the most heartbreaking expression I've ever witnessed. "It's okay," I tell him, my hands on his shoulders. "I'll go talk to James, okay? I promise, I'm not going anywhere until all of this is fixed."

He nods, sniffling and wiping his tears away. I give him a halfhearted smile and leave the bathroom, passing a confused Carlos and heading up the stairs to the room that James and Kendall share.

I have no idea what to expect when I get in there. I still don't know whether James simply doesn't believe I'm here or if he's mad at me for leaving. Either way, I'll never keep my promise to Kendall if I don't go in there and find out what's wrong. Even if James _does_ hate me, I owe this to my friends.

I raise my hand and form it into a fist, rapping on the door lightly with my knuckles. "James?" I ask tentatively, hoping that he'll let me come in. But if he doesn't, I don't blame him. I would hate me too if I were him.

To my immense surprise, the door opens to reveal a dark room and James standing in the doorway. I'm still not used to seeing James so skinny and gaunt-looking, so I consider myself lucky when I stifle the gasp as he appears in front of me.

"Hi," I say meekly, giving him a half-grin. "Can we talk?"

James doesn't say anything. Instead, he just nods, flicking on the light and then stepping aside to let me in the room.

I take in my surroundings quickly. I immediately notice that Kendall wasn't lying when he talked about the room he and James shared in his letter; every single picture was put face down except for one, the exact replica of the one that was currently resting in my back pocket. So it wasn't the same picture he had in his room, but now the copy that Kendall had given me feels like it weighs two tons in my pocket.

I glance around the rest of the room briefly before finding James sitting on his bed, his elbows resting just behind his knees and his fingers intertwined, his eyes focused on the digits laced together. It takes two steps for me to sit down next to him on the bed, the mattress sinking under both of our weight.

I'm about to apologize for _everything_, but James' voice cuts me off.

"I'm sorry, Logan," He says, his voice shaking and his gaze still locked on his hands. I'm confused; I was about to say the same thing to him. But instead of interrupting him, I let him continue. "I'm so incredibly sorry. I just—I don't know what I did, but obviously it was horrible enough to make you leave us."

I open my mouth to interrupt but he keeps talking, causing me to snap it shut again. "I'm such a horrible person," He muses, chuckling without humor. "I mean, it's pretty obvious that I _have_ to be. Otherwise you would have waited until after my birthday to leave us. But you didn't. You left the day before my birthday and I admire you for that, Logan. You saw that I didn't deserve happiness before anyone else did, even me, and that's something I give you credit for.

"So I'm sorry, Logan," He says again, finally looking at me with tear-filled eyes. "Whatever I did, I'm so terribly sorry. I hate myself for making you leave and I can't even look at myself anymore without scowling in disgust or feeling bile rise in my throat." He's crying now, his words broken by a small sob here and there. "I'm a stupid idiot, and I don't blame you if you hate me. Kendall hates me, Carlos hates me, I hate me. I know you hate me, too. And you should. All of you should hate me. Because I'm _stupid_."

Now he's sobbing, his body wracking violently with his uncontrollable cries. James turns his face away from me and buries it in his hands, sniffling and coughing and sputtering and looking all around miserable.

I wrap my arms tightly around his shaking frame, trying to ignore the way his bones jut out unnaturally and poke into my skin. I try to ignore the fact that he's much too thin, that he's so fragile that I'm absolutely terrified of breaking him. I try to ignore the fact that it's my fault that he's like this, that it's a mess that _I _made.

It's not Kendall's fault. It's not Carlos' fault. It's not James' fault. It's _my_ fault, it's my fault entirely.

I wait until he calms down to speak. "You have nothing to be sorry for, James," I whisper fiercely into his shoulder, trying to stop the flow of tears from escaping. "None of this is your fault and don't you think for one second that it is. I left on my own. In retrospect, it was the stupidest thing that I've ever done. I hurt you, and I hurt Kendall and Carlos, too. None of you deserved what I did to you, yet I went ahead and did it anyway. If it's anyone's fault, James, it's mine."

He's shaking his head, his hair shifting with every movement. I unwrap my arms around him, dropping to the floor and moving so that I'm kneeling in front of him.

"James," I say, trying to grab his attention. "James, look at me. It's not your fault." But his hands are still covering his face, and his head is still shaking, silently making me aware that he doesn't believe anything I'm telling him.

I grab his wrists, trying to pull his hands away from his face. "James, look at me," I repeat. He winces the minute my hands grab his bony wrists, and I let go quickly, recoiling as if James burned me somehow. "James," I say again, only this time my voice is lower, more serious.

He finally drops his hands from his face, looking up at me. "James," I repeat. "Let me see your wrists."

James shakes head again, looking away from me in shame. "You don't have to be afraid, Jay," I tell him, coaxing his cooperation out of him with his old nickname. "I won't be mad, I promise."

He looks towards me then, his eyes scanning my face. He drinks in the tears running down my cheeks, the hard line I have my lips set in, the sincerity I'm trying to convey in my eyes. I'm desperately trying to tell him to let me in without words, trying to help him build up the trust he had for me before I left. And I don't know what makes him do it, but he seems to believe me and he holds out his arms, his palms facing up.

I try to brace myself for what I know is to come but I can't. There's nothing that can prepare me for what I see when I lift James' sleeves up to his elbows.

There's a sick pattern of scars all the way up to the crease of his elbow on both arms, overlapping and intersecting each other the whole way. From what I learned in prep school, I can tell which ones are older and which ones are newer. The heart-clenching guilt that has been encompassing my body ever since I got Kendall's letter is coming back at full force now, anchoring me down and leaving me no escape.

A fragment of what Kendall told me plays in my mind: "_He's tired all of the time. Tired and cold, I guess. I don't know. He always wears long sleeved shirts even though it's only the beginning of September and it's still really hot outside." _I realize with another pang that Kendall was wrong, dead wrong. James was wearing long sleeves to hide what he had done to himself.

To hide what I had done to him.

"James," I say again, my voice cracking on his name. He's been watching me this whole time and now his head bows in shame, obviously upset with himself for making me upset. But he shouldn't be feeling that way. This is my fault, not his. "James, I'm so sorry."

Now I've broken. Tears are falling down my face rapidly, and I look away, desperately trying to stop them from coming. But no matter how much I want them to go away, they don't. As if mocking me, more are streaming down my cheeks, rolling off my chin and clinging to my neck, finally disappearing into the collar of my shirt. The wetness is disgusting and I don't like it, but I make no move to wipe the tears away.

James drops to his knees in front of me, wrapping his skinny arms around me. "It's not your fault, Logan," He says sadly. "I did this to myself." But while the second part is true, the first is far from it.

I bury my head into his shoulder, his collarbone jutting out against my chin. My arms are wrapped around him and I can feel every one of his ribs against my torso and his spine poking out against my arm. "But it is my fault," I finally say, my voice sounding muffled from having my lips pressed into his shirt. "You never would have done this if I had never left."

"But it's my fault that you left," He insists, his voice also muted by having his face pressed into my shoulder.

After he speaks I pull back from him, giving him a stern look. "No it's not, James," I say. "Don't you dare blame yourself. I left because I thought being a doctor was what I wanted to do. But I should have realized that it would hurt all three of you horribly. I mean, look at you, James…" I trail off, my eyes racking over his too-skinny form. "You're wasting away into nothing." My voice is strained, knowing that I'm the reason why he's like this.

He smiles sadly. "That's not your fault," He tells me, pulling his sleeves down to hide the horrible marks. I'm glad he does. "I've been trying to eat like normal, it's just…I can't keep anything down lately."

"Are you making yourself throw up?" I ask quietly. Before he answers, my eyes flicker to his hands. His knuckles are scabbed. I did a report on bulimics in sixth grade, and I'm positive that this was one of the signs of bulimia.

James looks down. "Sometimes," He admits, playing with his thumbs. "I mean, not every day. Just when I'm feeling horrible."

"James," I sigh. "You can't do this to yourself, okay? Promise me you won't do this to yourself."

He looks down again. "I can't promise you that, Logan," He whispers, his long hair hiding his face.

He looks so incredibly broken. Before arriving back, I had never seen James like this. He had come close to breaking when Gustavo first turned him down and even when Griffin dropped Big Time Rush, but nothing compared to how he looks now. But this time, it's not Gustavo's fault or Griffin's fault. It's my fault, and therefore it's my responsibility to pick up the shattered pieces that are James Diamond and desperately try to make him whole again. I'll do whatever it takes to fix what I did, even if it means doing something horrible to myself.

"Hey," I whisper, waiting until he looks up. "I'll make you a promise, too. I promise that I will never leave you guys again, okay?"

I see his face brighten considerably, light coming into his previously dull eyes. He pulls me to his chest again, wrapping his arms around me tightly. He begins to cry softly into my shirt, and I mimic his actions.

But while James is crying tears of joy, I'm crying tears of sadness. I just shamelessly lied to my best friend to make him feel better. I'm a horrible person and I'm going to rot in hell for it, especially when I break my promise and leave them again.

* * *

The apartment is quiet as I lay awake in my own bed, staring at what I assume is the ceiling in the sea of darkness that I'm shrouded in. Carlos is sleeping soundly in the next bed over. His steady breathing is the only thing that's keeping me from breaking down completely.

I have never felt so guilty in my life. I had put aside my friends' dreams for my own selfish ambitions, and the result is disastrous.

Kendall doesn't know what to do anymore. All of our lives, Kendall had always been the one to have the answers and to guide us in times of darkness. Even when his father died, he only broke down in front of James. Otherwise, he simply stepped up to fill the empty void his father had left. Kendall has never been helpless in any situation. That is, until now.

Carlos is the only one who's even half of who he used to be. He's not nearly as energetic and hyper as I', used to him being, but at least he's not totally changed. Although he isn't the youngest, we had always referred to Carlos as the baby of the group. His childlike ways and youthful personality just made him seem younger. But now, I think Carlos is the most mature of us all. He handled the situation I left him in better than Kendall and James, and right now, I'm so incredibly proud of Carlos.

James is merely a shell of his former self. He's not the conceited, always-singing, fun-loving James that I used to know. He's quiet and depressed and skinny and worst of all, he thinks that hurting himself is the way to go about his problems. James has always been the most dramatic and emotional out of the four of us, but I never imagined before now that he would ever resort to self-harm.

I don't even know what to think about myself. I know that I want to go back to school, but I also know that if I did, I would be hurting my friends even more. A part of me knows that I can't leave them again, that if I do, they'll only fall apart again. Kendall will be even more uncertain, Carlos might become completely isolated, and James will wither away into nothing. I can't leave them again.

But I can't abandon my dream of being a doctor, either. It's been everything I've known as long as I can remember. Even Kendall remembers. I used to walk around with my Seasame Street doctor kit and would try to heal my friends' imaginary ailments. I've known since I was little that I wanted to be a doctor and I know I want to be a doctor now.

But somehow it's not snapping into place like I thought it would. It feels…awkward, wrong. Maybe it's the fact that this is the first thing I've ever done in my life without Kendall or Carlos or James by my side. It makes sense. I've never really done anything without one of them by my side.

I don't know how it was so easy to leave them the first time. Maybe it was because I didn't know exactly what I was doing to them, what my absence would spark. But now I know what happened because of my selfish decision. None of us are right anymore. It's like we can't even function with one of us gone. Almost like we need all four of us to be completely secure in our state of mind.

And then it hits me: I've been dwelling on what leaving has done to impact James, Carlos, and Kendall, but I haven't once reflected on what being apart has done to me.

I try to think back to when I first left them. They would always call me and text me, but I ignored them. Somehow, I thought they would be mad at me for leaving. I knew that they had every right to be and I, being the coward I was, I didn't want to face the disappointment. It was why I never told them I was leaving in the first place. I had felt horrible for ignoring them the way I did, but I thought that I had to learn how to be a doctor by myself.

It didn't work out so well for me, thinking back. I always felt lonely and it wasn't like Patrick was actually _there_ to keep me company. The only friends I have at school are a few kids in my class, and even then, we don't hang out on weekends or anything. Even now, I still feel alone. Before Kendall sent his letter, the only people I really had to talk to were my parents.

Now, I know that if I do go back, I won't be able to break off all contact with my friends as I had before. Prep school is quite overwhelming. I even dare to say that I'm falling behind in some of my classes.

Sighing, I get up out of bed. I know that I won't be able to sleep, so I blindly walk over to my desk and pick up my laptop, trying to make my way out of the room quietly so that I don't wake up Carlos.

To my relief, he doesn't seem to stir when I open the door and slip out into the brightly lit hallway, closing the door behind me. I relax my tense posture and drag myself into the living room, passing the swirly slide and plopping down on the bright orange couch.

I open my laptop and turn it on, drumming my fingers next to the mouse pad as I wait for it to turn on. The screen illuminates and a small jingle erupts from the speakers, making me wince at the noise it caused. I tense and wait for someone to come out of their room and scold me for waking them, but to my relief everyone still seems to be asleep.

My desktop picture appears on the screen and the icons all load seconds later. Ironically, it's a picture Kendall, James, Carlos and myself performing at our first concert. It's almost perfect, really. We're all smiling and look like we're having a lot of fun, and remembering that day, I remember we did. Aside from getting kidnapped by Hawk and his assistant, that was easily one of the greatest days of my life.

I smile at the picture as I move my mouse to the upper left hand corner, double clicking on the internet icon. The window pops up and covers the picture, and my smile fades. Sighing, I type in the familiar web address into the address bar and hit enter, waiting for my school's site to load.

I click on the Power School link, typing in my username and password and hitting enter again. I feel anxiety cloud my mind as the page loads. What if I've done absolutely horrible? The one test I've gotten back this semester hasn't been very good. But I've taken three more since then, all in different classes. Honestly, it's only half a month into the semester and things are moving rapidly. It scares me.

Finally, the page loads and my heart drops into my stomach. I only have four classes and not one of the marks is good.

_Anthropology, Mr. Evans: B-_

_Introduction to Physics, Mrs. Baker: C-_

_English 11 Advanced, Mr. Gordon: C+_

_Pre-Calculus Advanced, Ms. Riley: C_

My mouth drops and hangs open as I feel tears well in my eyes, making the grades blurry. I have never gotten below a B+ on _anything_ in my life before now. Swallowing past the lump in my throat, I click on my grade in Anthropology, revealing a list of everything I've done in the class. Almost all of my homework assignments are completed and have 100's next to them, but homework only counts as 10% in each class. The fact that I'm missing two surely doesn't help my grade. I see the test that I took on archaeology last week with a C- next to it, obviously the culprit for bringing my grade down.

I find similar cases in other classes. I've already taken two quizzes and one test in Pre-Calc, and I've gotten C's on all of them. It's strange to me. I've always been so good at math. Apparently, I haven't been focusing as well as I used to.

A stubborn tear makes its way down my cheek and I wipe it away furiously. I shouldn't be crying about having bad grades. I still have more than half of the semester left, surely enough time to study hard and bring all of my grades up. But a small voice in the back of my mind tells me that I didn't leave everything I knew behind me just to fail my way out of prep school.

I shut my laptop angrily and practically throw it onto the cushion next to me, putting my head in my hands as more tears fall from my eyes. I feel so incredibly _stupid_ right now. It's like I can't do anything right. I thought going to be a doctor was what I was supposed to do, but apparently not. I've only been failing my classes and even worse, I've failed my friends.

A sudden realization nearly knocks the breath out of me. I think back to my application to St. Joseph's, back when I was filling it out when Kendall, Carlos and I were trying to build our Minnesota dreams back up.

"_This application asks what my biggest weakness is," I said, looking at my friends with questioning glances. _

_Carlos glances up from eating his apple. "You can be indecisive," He supplies, pointing his finger at me and flashing me a smile._

_I grin in return. "Right," I say happily. "I'll put that! Wait, no, should I? I mean, yes, I could, but I don't even know if I want to put that." My words were coming out in a rush, tumbling over one another. "Weak bladder," I finally decided, going to write it down._

That wasn't my only weakness, either. Obviously I can be indecisive at times. And I crack under pressure all of the time. Weren't these bad qualities for a doctor to have?

If I was indecisive in the middle of surgery, it might result in the death of a patient. Even worse, if I crack under pressure, it might lead to the same deadly outcome. And a weak bladder. I'm surprised I got accepted to the school with a weak bladder as my weakness. What if I was in the middle of performing an operation and I had to pee? Either I would leave and the patient might die, or my bladder would explode and then I would die and the patient would die, too.

I realize that I'm taking the whole weak bladder thing a little too seriously, but it's hard not to look at it in a bad way with the way I'm thinking right now. I just can't help but think that all of these weaknesses, the flaws that define who I am, won't get me anywhere on the road to being a doctor. If anything, they'll set me back. And I don't know if I can ever overcome then.

Now, for the first time, I see my decision of leaving as a mistake. I hurt my friends. I spent my parents' money. And for what? To flunk out of school, to realize that I don't have what it takes to be a doctor like I've always dreamt of being. Maybe I was good when I was assisting Doctor Hollywood, but that's not real life. In reality, I can't do this.

And even though it's two in the morning, I have to let Kendall, Carlos and James know that _right now_.

I abandon my laptop from where it's lying on the couch and hurry into the room Carlos and I are currently sharing, opening the door and not caring about how much noise it makes. Carlos stirs a bit from his slumber but doesn't fully regain consciousness.

"Carlos," I say, my voice filling the room. He mumbles in response, sliding his head under his pillow and holding it to his ear to block me out. I roll my eyes and nearly run to his bed, yanking the pillow away from him.

He sleepily glares at me. "Logan, what the heck?" He demands, his voice lethargic and still thick with sleep.

I resist the urge to smack him with the pillow. Violence won't be getting me anywhere. "Carlos," I repeat. "I just—I need to talk to you. _All _of you."

Carlos glances at the clock but doesn't say anything about the early time. Instead, he shoots up, much more alert than he was before. "Okay," He says warily. "Have you woken up Kendall and James?"

I shake my head. "No," I tell him, turning around and motioning for him to follow me out of the room. He doesn't comment as we walk down the hall and then head up the stairs, again not bothering with being quiet as we stomp up the steps.

We reach their door in a matter of seconds and I open it without knocking. Carlos flicks the switch, letting light flood the room. James stirs immediately, his eyes fluttering open and looking around the room in sleepy confusion. Carlos tends to him while I stride over to Kendall's bed, shaking him roughly and saying his name. After repeating his name several time, he finally wakes up and stares at me angrily.

"Logan, it's two in the morning," He points out tiredly, turning his bed back into the pillow. "Whatever it is, it can wait."

I shake my head although he can't see the movement. "No it can't, Kendall," I protest desperately. Apparently something in my voice causes him to look up, staring at me with a worried expression. "Just come downstairs, okay?"

Instead of protesting, he nods, dragging himself out of bed. James and Carlos have already left the room and Kendall and I follow them, heading downstairs to the living room area of our apartment. Once they're all settled in, I take a seat on the adjacent end of the couch so that I'm facing them. My laptop is sitting innocently next to me, holding all of the evidence that I need to show them.

"Okay," I begin, suddenly feeling nervous. "I don't know how to start this. I know what I'm going to say, I just don't know how to come out with it. I guess I'll start from the beginning.

"I had a dream about being a doctor," I explain to them. "It was fantastic and amazing and when I woke up, I was incredibly sad. I wanted more than anything for it to be real. And so I decided to make it real. I sent in my application to the prep school back in Minnesota, and a few weeks later, they called me in for an interview." I was rushing this part of the story but it doesn't really matter.

I let out a sigh. "They got back to me and told me that I had an interview on July 16th," I say, smiling apologetically at James. "So that's why I left on the 15th. I didn't tell you…I didn't tell you because I didn't want you to be mad at me. Looking back now, I don't think you would have been—"

"We wouldn't have been mad, Logan," Kendall tells me, interrupting me. "We would have helped you do whatever you needed to if being a doctor was what you wanted to be."

"Thanks," I mumble, though I know I didn't deserve it. "So I left, obviously. I should have told you. I shouldn't have just left the note and the present for James. It was stupid for me."

James cuts in. "What was the present, anyway? He asks. "I never exactly opened it," He adds sheepishly.

I smile. "Series three Buster Clydes in mint condition, of course," I tell him, and he smiles.

"Good times," He muses. "But you didn't have to get me those, Logan. They must have cost you a fortune."

I shrug. "Not really," I say. "But that's beside the point. The point is that I left you guys a day before your birthday, James. And I barely even gave you an explanation. That wasn't okay of me. Nothing will ever justify what I did to you all.

"I didn't even think about what I did until Kendall sent me a letter," I say, and James and Carlos look between Kendall and I in surprise. "It was only, you know, thirteen pages of reasons why I should be guilty, even though Kendall constantly told me not to feel that way. But I couldn't help it.

"He talked about how much you've matured, Carlos," I say, looking towards my friend. "And he's right. Out of the three of you, I wouldn't have expected you to be the one to handle this as well as you did. Carlos, I am so incredibly proud of you." He blushes, directing his gaze to the carpet. "I really am. You've grown up. And even though it's my fault, maybe that's not necessarily a bad thing, Carlos.

"Then he talked about you, James," I turn to James to find that, like Carlos, his gaze is aimed at the floor. "Kendall was worried about you and he had every right to be. If you don't want to tell them what's going on, I will."

James looks up at me then, giving me the most broken expression I've ever seen him wear. He doesn't want to cause Kendall and Carlos the same pain he caused me when I found out about his secrets. But he nods and swallows, turning to face them.

He begins with a whisper. "I've been making myself throw up," He says, looking down. Kendall and Carlos have a mixture of shock and sadness on their faces. I know that they're sad because they didn't notice what James was doing when they should have. Then again, I shouldn't have left. I was the one that caused this all.

"That's not all, is it?" Carlos asks quietly, trying to move closer to James but finding that Kendall is in his way.

James shakes his head sadly. "No," He whispers. Instead of explaining, he lifts his sleeves, revealing the myriad of scars and cuts etched into his tan skin.

Carlos chokes on a sob and Kendall simply stares at James' arms, almost like he's fascinated with the scars that decorate them. Slowly, our self-appointed leader reaches out and runs his finger over one of them, flinching at the same time James does.

And then Kendall is crying again, the tears streaming down his face. "I'm sorry," He says, moving his hand to clasp James'. James merely shakes his head, not looking Kendall in the eye.

"It's not your fault," I interrupt, grabbing my laptop and moving closer to them. I sit on the coffee table, waiting until all three of them look at me before speaking again. "That's your problem, Kendall. A big one that I noticed in your letter. You keep blaming yourself and it's not your fault, okay? If it's anyone's fault, it's my fault. I was the one who left you guys and made you all…depressed," I choke on the horrible word. "So it's okay that you don't have the answers, Kendall. I don't have them either. But I can fix this, okay?

"That's why I'm choosing to drop out of prep school and stay here with you guys," I tell them, seeing their expressions go from sad to shocked.

Carlos shakes his head. "Logie, you can't do that," He protests. "Being a doctor—it's been your dream since you were little!"

I smile sadly. "I know, Carlos," I tell him, opening my laptop. My grades are still displayed on the screen and I turn it around to show them. "But me and my dream aren't agreeing with me. Maybe it's just not meant to be."

"That doesn't mean anything," Kendall says. "Okay, so maybe you don't have the best grades ever. None of these classes have anything to do with being a doctor."

I laugh humorlessly. "But it's my grades in this school that will get me into medical school," I inform him. "It's just not working out."

"Logan, you can't give up your dream of being a doctor to be with us," James says. "I—we'll get better. Go on and wow them the way you always do."

To my surprise, tears well in my eyes and block my vision. I blink, and they begin cascading down my cheeks. "I'm not giving up my dream," I say. "I'm putting it on hold. Being a doctor can wait. Right now, I want to spend as much time with you as I can. We don't work well on our own. Unfortunately we learned that the hard way."

I stand up and wipe the tears from my face, the guys following my example. "I'm not leaving again," I say fiercely, taking turns to look all of them in the eye. "I promise."

They don't say anything. Instead, we all gravitate towards each other and suddenly I find myself in the middle of a four-way hug. It's exactly like it's always been. Four pieces of a puzzle, fitting perfectly together. The picture is incomplete without even one of us, and although it took a while to figure it out, I realize that. We all do.

"I don't need to get new friends," I say, pulling back for a moment to smile at them. Each of them gives me a smile in return, and that's how I know that everything is going to get better. That, with the four of us, things will be okay again.

And that's all I wanted. To make things okay again.

* * *

**OMWGNOTE: **Finally, I'm done! A month and a half and 28 pages later…this story is finally done. I'm fond of every scene but the very last. But whatever.

I've been teasing Miss Fenway about this for months. Although the title is obviously based off of This is Our Someday by Big Time Rush, the actual inspiration for the story came from the supposed summary for Big Time Guru. It said something about a Guru telling Logan that he was supposed to be a doctor and then Logan leaves Big Time Rush because of it. Obviously, my imagination ran away with me, seeing as I wrote this story. I think that, if BTR wasn't on Nick and Logan really DID leave the band, then this might be an accurate description of how his absence would affect the boys. Obviously, Logan's side-story in Big Time Pranks only added fuel to the fire. But I DID start this before that episode aired, so HA.

Thank goodness I am finally done with this. Again, huge thank you to EpicInTheLibrary for helping me edit everything, and I'd also like to thank whoever made up the description for Big Time Guru on Wikipedia. Oh, and my angsty mind. You know.

Laura, I hope all of the teasing I put you through was worth it. This is the longest thing I've written to date and just think: It's all for you!

Merry Christmas and an even merrier Unbirthday to you!


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